


here, my armor and there your vows

by Ashesandmint



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, F/F, Gay Awakening, Happy Ending, Smut, canon-typical levels of dorothea’s self destructiveness, ingrid being the repressed homophobic lesbian that she is, operatic play, unresolved feelings.. that will be resovled
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23974867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashesandmint/pseuds/Ashesandmint
Summary: Set after the b support conversation. Dorothea’s attempt blows up in her face. And Ingrid’s heart seems more elusive than ever. But the show must go on, and the prima donna must put on a smile.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	here, my armor and there your vows

The sound of the attendees’ small talk makes its way to the room she’d been using. When she finishes the final touches of her costume she slips out of the door, the sides of her hair pulled back with a gold embroidered clip, rather than letting it fall onto her face, or putting it behind her ear. She’s playing a young princess after all.

“Dorothea, you’re up.” It was her cue. There wasn’t a proper stage, not like the one at the Mittelfrank, with drapes and elevated platforms, trapdoors to allow for the more sophisticated plots. But Dorothea could always work with what she was handed. And she appreciated the richness of playing in a holy place, it added to the flair. Not that holiness meant anything much.

She strode in with all the elegance she built in her body. The flow of the white dress making it all fit even more perfectly. She was Dorothea, and also Rasia, the daughter of the king of all the lands, with all the servants and all the knights at her every bidding. Dorothea always felt the rush the same way, every time she put on another skin.

“Father will be most pleased with this.” She said with a big smile adorning her face. “Father would see every gift his daughter receives, he listens like the good king he is. He won’t hand over his daughter, the beautiful princess, to just anyone.” Seeing which gifts are best suited to her. Rasia will never go wanting.

The silence of the crowd is broken with gasps when the makeshift pegasus is brought out. Paper and wood and long stakes. The team had worked on it for over a month, making it as showy and elaborate as possible. One of the boys had suggested bringing in an actual pegasus, but the taming processes would be torturous. Dorothea had settled the matter simply: the fake pegasus would be better behaved. 

“My apologies, miss. I didn’t pay attention.” Her scene partner said. wearing ragged clothes, his hair down to his shoulders and soft, so soft. Dorothea smiled to herself, her hair was never this well groomed when she was out in the streets.

The commoner tugged on the leash of the fake pegasus, moving it out of the way. He then turned around to look at Dorothea fully. The actor opened his mouth, gaping. And, as the script had written, quickly regained himself into a more gentlemanly manner. Bowing his head and asking for hand to kiss. 

“What do you work?” She asked him. Dorothea strode closer to the pegasus, running her hand over its wooden face.

“I fight, for a coin here and there. If someone needs protecting, I protect them.”

“Must be a lucrative business.” She said. Loud for all the place to hear. Gesturing with her right hand to emphasize.

“Not, m’lady. I have no possessions but my beloved pegasus here. The jobs are hard to come by. And the ones that are dirty i prefer not to tread, would’t take an order to harm an innocent, no matter who gave it.” He said with a puff in his chest. It did’t come off with any arrogance. The dialogue certainly wasn’t, but Dorothea had to make sure the actor was charming while he said it. Wouldn’t want the audience to roll their eyes.

“My, that’s chivalrous.” She said with a wink.

Then the guards arrived, streaming in like a wall between them, swords and spears raised. “How dare you approach the princess.” The commander yelled.

“Princess?” The man had repeated. He wasn’t terrified, not by the weapons or the men. He gave another look at Dorothea, bowing his head.

“I didn’t say anything because I wished to talk to you as a woman, not as my status.” And with longing glances the scene cuts away to a different one.

The princess kisses her galant fighter in the end. The one of lowly birth and no riches to offer. And the crowd goes insane. The desires of the heart won after all. No audience could ever resist a lie like this.

#

She finds her in the middle rows, getting ready to take her leave. All the other attendees had stuck around. Either to talk with each other or to wait out the actors to greet them. Dorothea would receive much more than just a handful of compliments, getting bestowed on her left and right. She’d like to weigh all these words later on. If only the weights could tell her of every word’s worth, that’d make dorothea’s job in the confines of her room easier.

“Ingrid!” She said, breathless from nothing. She injected as much lightheartedness as she could. Scraping inside her body to find some more. The sight of Ingrid had filled her up and deflated her all at once.

“That was a good performance, Dorothea. Nice opera. Even if the ending is illogical.” Ingrid had her hair pulled back in ribbons Dorothea had never seen on her before. She smiled: a little gussying up.

Dorothea felt like she had to defend herself. Tucking the compliment in the inner cervix of her heart she drew a breath, “It’s perfectly logical within the story,” She started, about to go on explaining the ways the narrative earned things.

“I’ve read my fair share of stories, it’s lovely, and heartening. Just not real. What princess doesn’t uphold her duty? To her family none the less?” She had the vague feeling that Ingrid was being more prickly than usual due to their their last conversation. Dorothea had apologized, Ingrid still had the contours on her face that seemed like disgust. And Dorothea had to swallow on her own spit that felt like stone in her mouth. But it was fine, it was fine. She was only joking.

“Ingrid—“ She hesitated for a moment when the impulse to complement her on her looks came, she clamped down in it. “It’s a lively night, isn’t it? I bet the drinking tonight will be raging, do stick around. Everyone in class will be there. Well, everyone who isn’t a total downer.” She said and tilted her head to the side. The dress she was wearing was a sleek burgundy one, with laced black ribbons. The thing had cost her most of what she earned the previous month. But it didn’t matter. Soon enough her small tasks and singing will replace that.

Ingrid stood in-front of her in her uniform, adorned with a large beige scarf. Dorothea realized it was the same one Mercedes wore. She looked around for her, but couldn’t make her out in the crowd. Ingrid sensed she was about to bring it up, but before Dorothea could speak she said, “I think I’ll pass on that. Lovely as that sounds, I’m not feeling it tonight.”

“Is Ingrid feeling unwell? Is she sick?” Dorothea worried her lower lip in exaggerated sympathy. Ingrid never knew how Dorothea found all this strength to flirt. Was she not already drained from her day?

“Stop talking to me in the third person.” Ingrid said, waving off Dorothea. It wasn’t that she was angry, but there was definitely an unpleasant thing, where it settled exactly in her body she did not know.

Somewhere, the tips of her ears, down her spine. And—for some reason, _lower_. 

“I can’t even say its unbecoming when you frown, you’re adorable in every state Ingrid, what’s your secret?” Ingrid shakes off the feeling in her body. Their voices were drowned out to the crowd around them, the murmurs and laughter and occasional clap that accompanied an overdone joke. Dorothea added more honey to her voice. It was just them then, in that hall. No one could hear. Why should it matter? Ingrid thinks, privacy isn’t important. Ingrid turned back her gaze to Dorothea.

It looked like she was studying her, she’d been doing that often. “You know i don’t keep secrets.” It’s a feat that she skirted past the complement at all. Its another feat when she manages to elicit a laugh out of Dorothea.

The feeling in her body switches back on, it’s in her cheeks this time. Warm, Ingrid notes. She shouldn’t be talking to her, let alone making stupid jokes. But Ingrid found it happening anyway. The want to stop Dorothea from absentmindedly flirting rared in her. Maybe she really should leave.

Dorothea’s smile faded slowly, and she said in a more serious tone, “I’m sorry, for earlier.” Her eyes looked like there was too much green in them, and up close Ingrid needed to avert her gaze quickly.

“It’s okay, I just find the thought inappropriate. Besides, the House of Galatea doesn’t partake in these things.” Dorothea smiled through what felt like her third slap of the day. Ingrid’s face was still turned from her, which was good for Ingrid, she wouldn’t want Dorothea to notice the reddening on her cheeks. This moment was awkward as it already is.

“I see, but you must know that I exaggerate and say things even if I don’t mean them, I was only teasing you dear Ingrid.” She was looking again for that supply of light tone and effortlessness in her body, scraping hard because, it was so demanding right now. It was too hard on Dorothea. How many times has she had to wave something off as unmeant? Not many times since she’d came to the academy, she’s almost rusted on that front. People here accepted her well, for a change.

“It’s okay, Dorothea, I’m not mad anymore. But I think I’ll keep the drinking for another time.” She said and excused herself. Dorothea scarcely felt better, but her friends were there. And Linhardt and Bernadetta were miraculously out and about. Edelgard praised her in a manner that felt too official, like formal critique. But she loved it, and appreciated the story and acting. Dorothea beamed at that. Edelgard smiled wide. Even Hubert had a nice couple of words to say.

Ferdinand later pondered how he’d fair as the galant man, and Petra placed a kiss on Dorothea’s cheek, Caspar pumped his fist in the air. The night went on, and then the cathedral closed, heading back to her dorms Dorothea was swamped with thoughts of Ingrid again. This time thankful for the alcohol in her body for softening the edge of pain. She was horrid, and embarrassing, and Ingrid probably hated her by now. Visions of knights in shining armor plagued her sleep. But it would all be alright later on, she had promised herself, she’d fling herself at the closest possible options. She’d fuck her heart out with how many monastery soldiers and girls as she wanted, and how many it would take to make her right.

#

Ingrid entered her room and closed the door behind her with a loud clank. She pulled at the ribbon in her hair and wiped the light layer of lipstick she had put on, it was barely visible at all. But it doesn’t matter now. It’s done. She saw the stupid play. And now she’s free from that obligation.

She held her breath; it wasn’t stupid, it was breathtaking. It made Ingrid feel the same way those knight stories made her feel as a child, like everything was possible, like the strengths inside the bodies and wills would prevail over everything. Oh how Ingrid loved those stories.

Now, she thought, if only Dorothea hadn’t pulled that stunt earlier. _Pounce?_ How dare she. How da— she stopped. She was getting angry again. And if her father and Glenn taught her anything, it was to get to the bottom of her anger and understand it. She stripped of her uniform, washed her face and got ready for bed. Tomorrow she’ll think. She’d have plenty of time when she’s out on the training grounds. Now she’ll just settle for falling asleep.

Sleep doesn’t come. And when her frustration rises she decides to do what she does when she’s especially restless. Training isn’t a possibility in the dark of night, but touching herself is.

She lifts the hem of her night dress and guides her right hand to the fabric above her core. Lazily sliding her finger over the nub before pushing her underwear down. The touch of soft flesh still sends a light shock in her, like she’s not supposed to be doing this, for some reason. Her fingers put pressure right on her clit, and without grace she starts to furiously rub it. Sliding roughly over it until the friction starts to hurt. Ingrid teases her entrance, and slicks the fluid from it all over her slit. It built and built until she felt her muscles tense and her head lift and hit the pillow twice. She let out a sigh, it wasn’t enough.

She goes again, this time slipping a finger into herself, then another. Angling it to hit that spot, and again, with a lack of grace. Her movement rapid and shallow and the low noises coming out of her mouth improper. She fucked herself on her fingers, seeing a familiar face in the back of her mind, brown hair and green eyes and this time she came panting, with a name on the edge of her lips that refused to get said. She flung her eyes open, and the feeling of her body being dipped in cold water overcame her. How had she not stopped herself? 

Ingrid bites down and screams into her pillow, sleep doesn’t arrive until much later that night.

**Author's Note:**

> Im love them... 
> 
> comments much appreciated!


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